


Fit to Print

by Lady_Saddlebred



Series: Lessons They Never Taught Me [7]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 02:40:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1573115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Saddlebred/pseuds/Lady_Saddlebred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn is summoned to the Principal's Office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit to Print

Title:               Fit to Print

 

Authors:         Lady Saddlebred ([cdelapin@yahoo.com](mailto:cdelapin@yahoo.com))

 

Archive:         yes, please  


Category:       Qui/Obi, Alternate Reality, Angst, Humor

 

Rating:           PG  


Series:             Lessons They Never Taught Me

Disclaimer:     George Lucas owns everything (or he did, until he sold it to Disney). We own nothing, just playing in the playground.

 

Special thanks to Katbear and Merry Amelie, _notre betas par excellence!_

Feedback:       please feed the hungry bunnies!

 

Previous fics in series: all on AO3 website:  
Early Admission  
Lessons They Never Taught Me in School  
Lessons That Were Never on the Syllabus  
That Which Does Not Go to School  
Rainy Day Recess  
Of Popcorn and Pine Trees  


~*~*~*~

 

The instant message on his computer screen was typically curt and uninformative:

****

**_My office._ **

****

****

Quinn fought the urge to roll his eyes. What was it this time?There’d been no freakish experiments, no bionic meltdowns. And thanks to Ben’s periodic monitoring, there hadn’t even been any emergency fund requests to replace equipment in over a month. Quinn preferred to ignore the handsome IT consultant’s often snide comments about “ _self-defense_ ” and the implication that the Bio Department needed a personal bodyguard.

 

Shrugging out of his lab coat, Quinn sighed and reached for his blazer. Best go see what all the furor was about. Even tenured department chairmen knew better than to keep the Academy’s Dean of Students waiting.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Deborah Billingsley, Dean Winters' pretty executive assistant, greeted Quinn with a warm smile. She secretly looked forward to Professor Donovan being periodically called upon the carpet. Rather like a leprechaun on steroids, his quirky sense of humor drove Dean Winters right up the wall. “Good morning, Professor. He’s waiting for you. Go on in.”

 

“Thank you, Deborah,” Quinn answered, with a cheeky grin. “You’re looking particularly ravishing this morning. When are you going to dump this boring job and run away with me, eh?” Their private running joke.

 

Deborah gave him an entirely ladylike sigh, even as she playfully batted her eyelashes. He was such a rogue. “Oh, not quite yet, Professor. I like a steady paycheck and * ** _you_** * don’t want Professor Gauliere mad at you.”

 

Donovan clutched dramatically at his chest and moaned in despair. “How heartless a creature is woman. So, tell me, lass, what am I about to be burned at the stake for this time?”

 

She grinned and pointed at Dean Winters’ inner office door. “Once more, dear friend, into the breach.”

 

Quinn struck a fierce battle pose, raising his arm as if brandishing a saber. “And cry God for Harry, England and St George!”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Quinn knocked twice, then poked his head inside. “You wanted to see me, Mark?” Winters silently waved him in, motioning to close the door behind him. Quinn strolled to the chair opposite the desk, comfortably stretching out his long legs.

Winters came right to the point. “Have you seen this?” He opened a drawer and pulled out a stapled sheaf of papers.

 

“What is it?” Quinn asked calmly.

 

“From that damned student rag,” the Dean growled between clenched teeth. “Never should have let them start that nonsense on our network.”

 

“ ** _Gift of Gab_** ” was an inventive on-line combination of news, student editorials and discussions, ads for roommates and used textbooks, gossip and everything in between. Ben had helped some of the computer majors set it up on the school’s server a few years back and it had become wildly popular ever since. While not exactly Quinn’s cup of tea, he applauded the brains and ingenuity that kept it going.

 

“Now, Mark,” he said patiently, “you know I’m completely lacking in any sort of computer savvy. This so-called ‘ _intranet_ ’ thing-a-ma-bob really doesn’t hold any interest for me. Sorry.”

 

“Yeah, well, it should.” Winters slid the papers across the desk. “See for yourself.”

 

Quinn skimmed the first few entries, then shrugged dismissively. “So? Looks like a pretty lively discussion about…” He glanced down. “Some kind of drawing?”

 

“The ‘ _drawing_ ’ in question is on the last page,” said Winters grimly. “Take a look.” Quinn obediently flipped to the final page.

 

The full-page sketch showed a huge brachiosaurus cowering on its hind legs before a pack of snarling desktop and laptop computers. Mice and power cords twirled like maniacal bolos and sparks flew in all directions. The dinosaur wore an Academy lab coat and distinctive rimless reading glasses. One large foreleg desperately thrust a small action figure at the marauding machines. The “ _hero_ ” wore an oversized tool belt bristling with gadgetry worthy of the Dark Knight himself. It brandished an oversized screwdriver and a shield emblazoned with a large “ ** _K_** ”.

 

Quinn raised a quizzical eyebrow. “This? You’re all worked up over a * ** _cartoon?_** *” He studied the picture a moment longer, then dropped it back on the desk and shrugged. “Shows a lot of promise. Talent like that should be encouraged. An art major, I assume?”

 

“* ** _Encouraged?_** * You do realize this is supposed to be * ** _you_ ,*** right? You’re being mocked by a student, on the * ** _school’s_** * own website! Belittled, vilified, disparaged and disrespected on any number of levels! And it doesn’t bother you? It should.” Winters angrily retrieved the papers and thrust them back in his drawer.

 

Quinn grinned sardonically, enjoying his friend’s discomfiture. “Why? It’s really rather perceptive, if you think about it. I loathe computers, as you well know, and I assure you the feeling’s mutual. And by today’s standards, I probably * ** _am_** * something of a dinosaur, a fossil. At least the artist was kind enough to choose an amiable species, and not something like a T-Rex or a velociraptor.” He rose and came around to perch on the edge of the desk. “And believe me, if it weren’t for young Ben Kensington, I’d probably have jumped off the roof of the Ferguson Building by now, as long as I could be certain of taking every damned computer with me when I went. He’s a godsend, Mark. I wish we could have him cloned. An * ** _army_** * of Ben Kensingtons would be barely enough. Why don’t you get the poor guy some help, Scrooge?”

 

Winters scowled, all too aware of the psychological disadvantage of having to crane his neck upward to look the tall Irishman in the eye. “You’re missing the point, as usual, Quinn. And stop changing the subject. I’m talking about a complete lack of respect due a senior faculty member, a department chairman, for crying out loud! This is beyond rude, it’s inflammatory. It’s degrading, it’s libelous, it’s-”

 

“It’s * ** _entertaining_** *as hell,” Quinn retorted. “And as for showing a lack of respect, I disagree. My students are encouraged to think for and express themselves, both in and out of the classroom, though perhaps with a bit more tact. I take that picture as a compliment. Besides, how is this any different from the shows the students put on every year during Graduation Week?   I’ve been called far worse. Lighten up, Mark. It’s a harmless bit of fun. What’s the big deal?”

 

“It wasn’t just * ** _any_** * student, Quinn. Anthony Walker drew this. The ‘ _boy_ _genius_ ’ you campaigned so hard to the Board of Governors to let in here. Is this how he shows his gratitude?” Winters shook his head in frustration.

 

“I’m well aware that Ani drew it, Mark,” Quinn said calmly. “He ‘ _gifted_ ’ me with the original. In full color * ** _and*_** autographed. It’s framed and hanging in my-”

 

 **“* _WHAT!*_** Winters stood up so forcefully his desk chair crashed into the wall and Quinn had to jump back to keep from being knocked over _. “_ Quinntrell Joseph Donovan, what have you been smoking in that lab of yours? You * ** _cannot_** * encourage this kind of behavior! What kind of example are you setting for the rest of the school? You’re a department chairman. When are you going to start * ** _acting_** * like one?”

 

“Oh, calm down, Mark,” Quinn rejoined with a chuckle. He always enjoyed plucking his friend’s nerves, just to watch him lose his cool. It didn’t take much. “It’s a harmless caricature. Ani has a lot of talent and I relish his sense of humor. The only problem I have with the kid is keeping him occupied while the rest of the class catches up. Hell’s bells, I’m flattered he thought enough of me to do the drawing in the first place.” He paused, then sobered. “Mark, the lad has a hard enough time fitting in as it is. He’s years younger than anyone on campus, and with an IQ that’s off the scale. The girls want to put him in diapers and rock him to sleep and the boys want to beat the crap out of him. If he can take everything this place throws at him, ace his classes and * ** _still_** * find time to do something like that drawing, then I applaud him for it.”

 

Winters sighed as he retrieved his desk chair and sat back down. “I know the boy’s got it rough, and it’s commendable that you’re willing to go the extra mile to help him. You’ve always been a soft touch for a hard-luck case. But he needs to learn diplomacy and you shouldn’t be encouraging this kind of thing. You’re * ** _not_** * helping the situation, you know.”

 

“ _Mea culpa_ ,” Quinn replied unapologetically. “But, Mark, it’s on-line; it’s ‘ _out there_ ,’ as they say. A little late to be worrying about diplomacy now. Besides, I think it could be worth something one day, a real collector’s item. Maybe I should put it in my safety deposit box.”

 

“Get out of my office, Donovan, before I forget I ever liked you,” Winters growled.

 

Quinn gave him a snappy salute, then turned on his heel and headed for the door. “This, too, shall pass,” he tossed over his shoulder. “Take it from the dinosaur.”

 

“Oh, go grow something in a Petri dish,” Winters grumbled, reaching for his perpetually overflowing In box.

 

“Aye aye, _mon capitan_. Want to get together later for a couple of sets? I’m free after 4:00.”

 

“Yeah, sure, why not? I feel like kicking your Irish ass. Might as well do it on the tennis court.”

 

Quinn snorted derisively from the open doorway. “In your dreams, Mark. In your dreams.”

 

Deborah Billingsley managed to look extremely busy as Quinn exited the Dean’s inner office. She’d heard the explosion, but when no one yelled to call 911, it was probably just Professor Donovan making mischief yet again.

 

Quinn paused at her desk. “Well?”

 

“You don’t look too scorched,” she said archly. “Were you a bad boy again?”

 

Quinn gave her an injured look. “Why do you always assume it’s my fault?”

 

“Oh, maybe because your horns seem to always knock your halo sideways.”   She couldn’t hold back the giggle.

 

“You knew what this was about before I came, didn’t you, lass?”

 

“The entire campus knows about it, silly. It’s quite the topic _du jour_. You just love to stir things up around here, don’t you?” She shook her head as he shrugged, wholly unrepentant.

 

Quinn blew her a kiss on his way out. She grinned and waved, then grabbed her pad as the Dean’s growl from the intercom summoned her to take dictation.

****

**~*~*~*~**

 

Quinn was still chuckling when he got back to his office. Closing the door behind him, he sat at his desk and contemplated the framed picture on the wall, surrounded by a plethora of sticky notes. The outraged look on Mark’s face when he’d found out Quinn not only knew about the drawing but possessed the signed original had been priceless.

 

 

It occurred to him that perhaps he’d underestimated his protégé’s keen insight. Did Ani somehow sense the undercurrents between himself and Ben, or was he just looking at the surface – his favorite professor, wholly out of his element in a modern technological world, “ _rescued_ ” by Superhero Ben Kensington? Ani openly idolized Ben, happily assisting the young IT professional in rectifying the recurring technological terrors in his lab. And hadn’t Ben mentioned that Ani was working on some top-secret computer project for which he had gained special permission from the powers-that-be to access to the main campus servers? The boy was an academic dynamo, a force to be reckoned with.

 

 

Quinn sighed. How he would miss Ani when the boy graduated. The years were pressing in on him, and he wondered how much longer he’d be able to withstand the urge to walk away from the academic life and enjoy a well-earned retirement.

 

 

Then he mentally shook himself. He had no time to wallow in pathos. There was Ben to consider, and Adele. He had responsibilities to those he loved and until he could find a way to keep them safe, retirement and a life of botanical research on his own terms would just have to wait.

 

 

_~end~_


End file.
